Steve Rogers (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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thearena2015-07-06 05:39 pm
aboveangrybees) wrote in thearena2015-07-06 05:39 pm
Entry tags:
They Haunt Me [Open Log]
Who| Steve Rogers & You! Steve & Tony Stark.
What| Past few weeks have been hard on Steve: sickness, nightmares, starving. You know, your average arena.
Where| Castle, Avengers Safe Room, Nearby Forest, & Network post for the Mirror Mirror Event Week 4
When| Week 4 - 6
Warnings/Notes| Warning: Explicit mentions of past torture, disability, nightmares, sickness. Bracket or prose welcome! Reminder: Steve is in his Pre-Serum form, so he's basically 5'4 and 90lbs.
A: Week 4-5 (Closed to anyone at the Avengers Camp) (Warning: nightmare contains explicit mentions of torture)
Steve knows what waits for him when he closes his eyes, what lurks around the corners of his mind, and because of it he's done his best to sleep shallow, never falling too deep into what hides there. His mind alert enough to keep himself ready to wake up when the images begin to haunt him, but a body as weak and frail as his can only survive so long on such sporadic sleep. And the more he grows comfortable with Bucky, with Sam, with Clint, the more his body demands sleep, begs for the rest it needs to survive because they won't let anything kill him while he dips into oblivion. But he keeps refusing, keeps fighting it.
Eventually, his body no longer gives him any say.
That's when the nightmares take over.
The hushed cell, bare of anything but him, not a door or a window or a bed, just a box to hold him. And it's quiet, so quiet that his voice feels muted when he tries to call out, where his mind is so loud it chips away at his shell, cracks forming along his brow, his cheeks, shattering his ears, leaving the world even more muted than before. The silence is so oppressive he can't hear himself breathe- he gasps ans wheezes for air but it makes no sound, nothing and he doesn't even know if he's breathing at all. Air, he needs air, the room has no air. He tries to claw his way out, eventually finding a tear, something cracked and fractured like his shell, and he rips at it, pulls at it, and it gives like paper, freeing him to tumble into a hall, where he can finally hear his breathing again.
The hall is long, treacherous – he knows what lurks behind the doors, the creatures that pace the length – and void of color, but he remembers color, he sees it when he looks at his hands- “N-no. No,” the hands he's staring at are now colorless, drained and lifeless like the floor and walls, he feels like the tints and shades and hues have been ripped from his eyes, leaving him lost in a world of black and white. He runs now, runs until shoves open a door, one he knew without thinking what it would be, knew it would be a room of mirrors, one he can look into and see-
See the reflection of his pre-serum self looking up at him. But that's not right, he's not that anymore, not since the serum. But then he's being grabbed, shoved, he can't fight back, they scruff him like a stray cat, but- When did his limbs get strapped down- Doesn't matter. The light above him is too bright, there are hands on him, needles in him. He feels his body giving in even though his mind keeps fighting it, furious at his own body's weakness.
“The body is regressing as hoped, but the skeletal structure isn't keeping up, the skin will rip itself open on it at this rate.”
“We need to encourage the bones to shrink along with the skin and organs.”
No, he doesn't like the sound of that, he- he's standing now, hands bound by something behind him, no- Wait! The chokes off sounds of pain escape him as his arms are wrenched up, dislocating his shoulders with the unnatural movement and his own body weight. For the way he's then lifted by his wrists and- but then he's on the table again, more like a ragdoll, they barely give him more than a cursory effort to strap him down this time, not fearing him with all his joins dislocated. He's silent, trying to control his breathing, not knowing what or why they are doing what they are, but if they expect him to scream, he wont. (In reality he's whining, wheezing, curling into himself, his heart ready to hammer out of his body)
“We'll need to stimulate regrowth, the progress will be more manageable if done all at once.”
“Can the subject withstand it?”
“It's more than capable of surviving.”
Steve feels like he can't breathe again, even with the sound of his gasping echoing in his ears, but he's not gasping, his breathing is controlled. Then why can he hear it? (In reality, he's gasping and choking back the sounds of panic.) There's no stopping the cry of pain in either reality when the first bone is broken, but as they move to break every bone in his body, the cries turn into screams, how he tries to flinch, pull away but they just twist his limbs and send shocks of agony through him.
“Now for the back.”
Now Steve looks up at the scientists, the doctors, and sees familiar faces. Tony and Sam are carelessly grabbing as his arms, Thor and Natasha grab for his legs- But no- no, that's wrong! It's wrong! He looks up at the scientist that spoke, the one right above his head- Bucky. The man accepts a wicked looking device from a woman- No.
Peggy, his Peggy, not the one from this world but his own, he can see the difference, he knows the difference, she's looking at Bucky, seeming to not even acknowledge Steve. “Careful not to injure the spinal column, they still want to make an example of it.”
“Bucky, Peggy, please don't,” they are his friends, the woman he loves, the man he would die for without a second thought, why were any of them doing this? It was wrong, it had to be. “Please God, stop this. Bucky, you know me, don-”
“Of course, I know you,” for the first time Bucky looks down at him, his voice as cold and devoid of any emotion as his expression, looking more akin to the Winter Soldier than Steve can remember. And Steve knows now, he knows Bucky got caught by the Capitol, turned against him.
He failed to save him. Any of them. They all suffered this same fate.
With a quick gesture, the rest flip him over like his comfort is worthless to them, “Please, Sam, Tony, Nat-” but he's silenced when someone leans down by his ear, hushing him softly.
“You're my mission and this is me finishing it.”
The final resounding crack of his back being broken snaps him out of the nightmare as he screams, fighting against anything or anyone who's touching him, lashing out like his life and safety depend on it.
B: Week 5-6 (Open)
Sickness comes on gradually, starting with dark patches of skin then making Steve's already exhausted and aching body slow down even further. His breathing becomes more struggled and labored on the best of days and his inhaler only has so many uses before it's out and he's up a creek, so he does his best to survive without it, leaving it for the worst of circumstances.
On the days his mind will allow him the luxury of the tenuous trust he's gain in the others, Steve just doesn't leave his nest of blankets and sleeping bags if he can help it, giving his body the rest it needs in the relative safety of the group. The days his mind doesn't allow that? Well, Steve wanders away, giving himself space while still rarely leaving the castle, looking for anything of use, looking for a place he feels safe enough to rest.
He finds himself frequenting the empty library, moving slowly as he trails his fingers along the bare shelves and often staring up at the strained glass windows where light struggles through. Color has been lost on him for a few weeks now, but he tries to remember what it looked like, how it felt. But in the later week, Steve is more on edge when found here, knife out, sometimes carving symbols into the wood of a shelf or desk.
Depending on the noise made when he's approached, Steve will either look up to eye them warily or his bad hearing will have him oblivious.
C: Week 6 (Open)
Despite the sickness and exhaustive sleep that wracks Steve's body, he finds the need for food too great to waste away in his nest of blanket. Sure, the others have gone out to look for food themselves, but both he and his companions are slowly starving as they reach the last of their food stores and he can't rely solely on them to pull him through this. No, if he's going to survive and win, he has to do it on his own to some degree, so Steve takes it upon himself to venture out of the castle and into the forest.
His primary focus is finding sustenance growing in the wild, but he's also on the hunt for abandoned camps or bags, anything someone who's died has left behind. Scavenging off the dead is far from his favorite thing, but watching the- his- his friend's starve is worse.
He uses his small, light weight form to move quietly through the brush, wand in one hand and knife in his pocket. Frequently, he pauses, his eyes darting all around him to make up for his hearing, a sense he is straining to make up for his poor eyesight in return. Really, he's the worst person to go out for this, but dumb and selfless is his calling.
(ooc: happy to have Steve get in some trouble, jump in to save anyone from a wolf or the likes, or even work in the gingerbread house event for week 6 into this prompt!)
What| Past few weeks have been hard on Steve: sickness, nightmares, starving. You know, your average arena.
Where| Castle, Avengers Safe Room, Nearby Forest, & Network post for the Mirror Mirror Event Week 4
When| Week 4 - 6
Warnings/Notes| Warning: Explicit mentions of past torture, disability, nightmares, sickness. Bracket or prose welcome! Reminder: Steve is in his Pre-Serum form, so he's basically 5'4 and 90lbs.
A: Week 4-5 (Closed to anyone at the Avengers Camp) (Warning: nightmare contains explicit mentions of torture)
Steve knows what waits for him when he closes his eyes, what lurks around the corners of his mind, and because of it he's done his best to sleep shallow, never falling too deep into what hides there. His mind alert enough to keep himself ready to wake up when the images begin to haunt him, but a body as weak and frail as his can only survive so long on such sporadic sleep. And the more he grows comfortable with Bucky, with Sam, with Clint, the more his body demands sleep, begs for the rest it needs to survive because they won't let anything kill him while he dips into oblivion. But he keeps refusing, keeps fighting it.
Eventually, his body no longer gives him any say.
That's when the nightmares take over.
The hushed cell, bare of anything but him, not a door or a window or a bed, just a box to hold him. And it's quiet, so quiet that his voice feels muted when he tries to call out, where his mind is so loud it chips away at his shell, cracks forming along his brow, his cheeks, shattering his ears, leaving the world even more muted than before. The silence is so oppressive he can't hear himself breathe- he gasps ans wheezes for air but it makes no sound, nothing and he doesn't even know if he's breathing at all. Air, he needs air, the room has no air. He tries to claw his way out, eventually finding a tear, something cracked and fractured like his shell, and he rips at it, pulls at it, and it gives like paper, freeing him to tumble into a hall, where he can finally hear his breathing again.
The hall is long, treacherous – he knows what lurks behind the doors, the creatures that pace the length – and void of color, but he remembers color, he sees it when he looks at his hands- “N-no. No,” the hands he's staring at are now colorless, drained and lifeless like the floor and walls, he feels like the tints and shades and hues have been ripped from his eyes, leaving him lost in a world of black and white. He runs now, runs until shoves open a door, one he knew without thinking what it would be, knew it would be a room of mirrors, one he can look into and see-
See the reflection of his pre-serum self looking up at him. But that's not right, he's not that anymore, not since the serum. But then he's being grabbed, shoved, he can't fight back, they scruff him like a stray cat, but- When did his limbs get strapped down- Doesn't matter. The light above him is too bright, there are hands on him, needles in him. He feels his body giving in even though his mind keeps fighting it, furious at his own body's weakness.
“The body is regressing as hoped, but the skeletal structure isn't keeping up, the skin will rip itself open on it at this rate.”
“We need to encourage the bones to shrink along with the skin and organs.”
No, he doesn't like the sound of that, he- he's standing now, hands bound by something behind him, no- Wait! The chokes off sounds of pain escape him as his arms are wrenched up, dislocating his shoulders with the unnatural movement and his own body weight. For the way he's then lifted by his wrists and- but then he's on the table again, more like a ragdoll, they barely give him more than a cursory effort to strap him down this time, not fearing him with all his joins dislocated. He's silent, trying to control his breathing, not knowing what or why they are doing what they are, but if they expect him to scream, he wont. (In reality he's whining, wheezing, curling into himself, his heart ready to hammer out of his body)
“We'll need to stimulate regrowth, the progress will be more manageable if done all at once.”
“Can the subject withstand it?”
“It's more than capable of surviving.”
Steve feels like he can't breathe again, even with the sound of his gasping echoing in his ears, but he's not gasping, his breathing is controlled. Then why can he hear it? (In reality, he's gasping and choking back the sounds of panic.) There's no stopping the cry of pain in either reality when the first bone is broken, but as they move to break every bone in his body, the cries turn into screams, how he tries to flinch, pull away but they just twist his limbs and send shocks of agony through him.
“Now for the back.”
Now Steve looks up at the scientists, the doctors, and sees familiar faces. Tony and Sam are carelessly grabbing as his arms, Thor and Natasha grab for his legs- But no- no, that's wrong! It's wrong! He looks up at the scientist that spoke, the one right above his head- Bucky. The man accepts a wicked looking device from a woman- No.
Peggy, his Peggy, not the one from this world but his own, he can see the difference, he knows the difference, she's looking at Bucky, seeming to not even acknowledge Steve. “Careful not to injure the spinal column, they still want to make an example of it.”
“Bucky, Peggy, please don't,” they are his friends, the woman he loves, the man he would die for without a second thought, why were any of them doing this? It was wrong, it had to be. “Please God, stop this. Bucky, you know me, don-”
“Of course, I know you,” for the first time Bucky looks down at him, his voice as cold and devoid of any emotion as his expression, looking more akin to the Winter Soldier than Steve can remember. And Steve knows now, he knows Bucky got caught by the Capitol, turned against him.
He failed to save him. Any of them. They all suffered this same fate.
With a quick gesture, the rest flip him over like his comfort is worthless to them, “Please, Sam, Tony, Nat-” but he's silenced when someone leans down by his ear, hushing him softly.
“You're my mission and this is me finishing it.”
The final resounding crack of his back being broken snaps him out of the nightmare as he screams, fighting against anything or anyone who's touching him, lashing out like his life and safety depend on it.
B: Week 5-6 (Open)
Sickness comes on gradually, starting with dark patches of skin then making Steve's already exhausted and aching body slow down even further. His breathing becomes more struggled and labored on the best of days and his inhaler only has so many uses before it's out and he's up a creek, so he does his best to survive without it, leaving it for the worst of circumstances.
On the days his mind will allow him the luxury of the tenuous trust he's gain in the others, Steve just doesn't leave his nest of blankets and sleeping bags if he can help it, giving his body the rest it needs in the relative safety of the group. The days his mind doesn't allow that? Well, Steve wanders away, giving himself space while still rarely leaving the castle, looking for anything of use, looking for a place he feels safe enough to rest.
He finds himself frequenting the empty library, moving slowly as he trails his fingers along the bare shelves and often staring up at the strained glass windows where light struggles through. Color has been lost on him for a few weeks now, but he tries to remember what it looked like, how it felt. But in the later week, Steve is more on edge when found here, knife out, sometimes carving symbols into the wood of a shelf or desk.
Depending on the noise made when he's approached, Steve will either look up to eye them warily or his bad hearing will have him oblivious.
C: Week 6 (Open)
Despite the sickness and exhaustive sleep that wracks Steve's body, he finds the need for food too great to waste away in his nest of blanket. Sure, the others have gone out to look for food themselves, but both he and his companions are slowly starving as they reach the last of their food stores and he can't rely solely on them to pull him through this. No, if he's going to survive and win, he has to do it on his own to some degree, so Steve takes it upon himself to venture out of the castle and into the forest.
His primary focus is finding sustenance growing in the wild, but he's also on the hunt for abandoned camps or bags, anything someone who's died has left behind. Scavenging off the dead is far from his favorite thing, but watching the- his- his friend's starve is worse.
He uses his small, light weight form to move quietly through the brush, wand in one hand and knife in his pocket. Frequently, he pauses, his eyes darting all around him to make up for his hearing, a sense he is straining to make up for his poor eyesight in return. Really, he's the worst person to go out for this, but dumb and selfless is his calling.
(ooc: happy to have Steve get in some trouble, jump in to save anyone from a wolf or the likes, or even work in the gingerbread house event for week 6 into this prompt!)
Closed to Tony Stark - Backdated for the Mirror Mirror Event in Week 4
He's positive he's been to every corner of this palace, but one day he stumbles across a room he's never noticed, one that holds a- A mirror?
It has his attention enough that he finds himself moving closer, peering into the reflective glass like he expects it to show him something unpleasant, but it doesn't. Not unless you count Tony as unpleasant, since that's who it suddenly opens network communications with without him saying a word.
"Uh," Steve blinks owlishly at the other man, clearly lost for words because he didn't expect this to happen at all.
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He had however been keeping track of Steve and the rest of the team through the meticulously kept fan blogs, which each of them had. Even Tony had one, which now has become more of a coffee blog now they don't have Tony to stalk in he arena, so they stalk his dining choices instead.
In the time it takes to sigh, Tony gives up on distracting himself with yet another engine schematic (because he's pretty sure he can work out a flawless hydrogen engine in his down time), and reaches for his communicator to check what the blogs have to say about what happened to the team today.
So while Steve might have been able to actually see him first, all Tony hears is the 'uh' as his hand covers the screen from Tony's perspective. There's his own pausing blink before he looks at the communicator and finally sees Steve. Short of his eyes widening his face makes no other move. At least Steve has managed to have a moment being somewhat face to face with Tony without immediately getting some smartass comment. But he manages to hide the surprise he first displayed taking on a more neutral look.
The the split second of the neutral look Tony's head is screaming with different things to say, that he's glad he's still alive, even if it is alive in the arena, that he looks good. Well good for short and thin, Did he like what Tony sent him? Stop thinking you're so expendable.
I didn't stop trying to find you, not even for a second.
But he doesn't say any of it. Instead he gives the guy a small smirk, before leaning back comfortably in his chair.
"You know, this is a weird moment in your life to try and start sexting me." He pauses. "I mean, depending on how you look at it, one of us isn't getting with the theme."
Deflection is jut easier for him.
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Seeing the man right now toes some kind of weird line for Steve. Tony is in the Capitol, he's not direct threat to Steve here, though if he really wanted he could cause some problems for Steve. Hell, does Tony count as a Capitolite now? He's an off-world tribute but he's also a victor, would the Capitol punish Steve if he acted too casual, if he talked back like they had done while he was in captivity? Would they care at all? This is likely on the network, for everyone to see, and everyone thinks they are a couple, right? So, maybe that's it - they wanted to reunite the couple one more time, the traitor with his victor boyfriend before they killed Steve off for good. Maybe they are hoping for some kind of fight?
Steve is so deep in thought over this, trying to figure this out, trying to figure out how his muddled mind feels, that he almost misses what Tony says. He blinks again before shaking his head gently, giving the man an exasperated look.
"Not sure if video counts as sexting, besides, pretty sure they'd cut the feed before I got my top off," his tone is wary, but there is amusement there, very dry amusement. The Capitol definitely wouldn't want blatant signs of what they did to Steve on display.
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Tony starts with a pouty look, he personally wouldn't be at all surprised if this little surprise communication was being used for show footage. After all he knows damn near every inch of the arena is monitored as well as his room in various ways. So he's hardly about to not keep up the act, besides, keeping up the act in someway could help Steve trust him. He's read enough to know that Steve's been very skittish around the others.
With all Tony's gone through since Steve had seemingly martyred himself for the good of the 'mission', Tony wouldn't be able to handle Steve shying away from him.
"Besides, it counts if I say it does." There's another pause. "They've released a new donut. Called the Stark. It's got blue icing on the top" He gestures to his own chest "For some obscure reason. It tastes like coffee and coconut. It's... Well, weirdly addictive."
He wants to groan over how awkward he's sounding, but in his head this feel slike a safe conversation for the moment.
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With the fact that Tony might turn around and turn him in, might turn the sponsors against him. He's not entirely sure he can trust the man. He's not sure he can trust anyone. Not really.
So, the comment goes unaddressed.
Though, he does pause at the doughnut comment, brows furrowing a little in a confused way. "Wait, if it's named after you, shouldn't it be red? Or gold for that matter?"
Blue was more Steve's color, red was a color that most of the team shared, but gold was definitely more Tony. If he were to assign people colors - which he might have subconsciously - then gold is Tony's.
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After all, he has to be at least a little proud of his regular place, he guessed. He rubs at his face suddenly then sighs.
"You're alright? Right? No infections or- Clint, did he find the things I told him to look for? You're breathing okay?"
Tony might be known for being a selfish asshole, but he's grown annoyingly fond of his team, and with Steve presently being the member who would struggle to keep up with his whole medical journal of problems back again, Tony can't pretend he's not worrying it seems. He's just hoping he sounds like a nag and not incredibly worried that Steve will not only die, but never return to the Capitol.
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Quickly, he shakes his head to rid the thoughts, deciding that's something to worry about another time. His expression schooled again, he huffs a small amused sound. "The people in the Capitol are plenty smart, shouldn't be surprised."
But as Tony goes on, Steve sighs, a bit exasperated, a bit fond. Part of him doesn't want Tony to show he cares so much, because Steve is a dirty rebel, a traitor, Tony should treat him as such. Part of him is touched by it, even if he is trying not to show it.
"I'm fine, Stark," the use of last name is intentional, it's forcefully putting emotional distance between them. He doesn't want to, but for Tony's safety, it's better if he does. "You don't have to worry about me- you shouldn't worry about me. I'm doing fine."
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"No body of people in one spot at the same time are smart. Believe me, I know."
When he hears his last name being uttered he blinks, his head tilting ever so slightly as he watches the screen for a moment trying to figure out why Steve went back to being so formal. Sure, Tony's done some pretty terrible things in the last month or so, but nothing that Steve would have known about. After all, he would have started chewing him out about it. So it wasn't that.
It was something else, which Tony wasn't sure about. Steve had some reason in his head for it and Tony was sure it was a stupid one.
He narrows his eyes at him. Telling Tony not to worry about him is one thing. But using shouldn't? Didn't feel right. Steve might have recently become suspicious of those around him. Tony's suspicious by nature.
"Something's wrong."
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So, he knows what he has to do.
It was fake anyway.
He gives a bit of a sigh as he looks down for a second in thought, trying to put this into words.
"You know it's over, between us, right?"
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"What?"
He know's all too well that they were faking a relationship, but at the same time it's still pretty left field for Steve to bring this up now. After all. He scrubs his face looking irritated.
"No."
Okay, Tony hasn't really ever been in that many proper relationships. Really it's only been Pepper, and technically what he was doing with Steve. Everyone else was a one night stand. It had suited him. But even he knew this was the next best thing to getting a break up text.
"Sorry Steve. This is not how we're doing this."
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"It was over the second I got captured and you know it," he says it sternly, not giving an inch by his tone. But then he softens just a little, unwilling to break off everything. "You're my teammate and.. I like to still think of you as my friend, but this relationship? It was a scam and I know you figured that out by now. I needed the Capitol to look the other way, to give them a reason to watch when I was with you and be too boring without you for them to care."
He has to look down again to hide his own flinch, because he's sealing his fate more, the Capitol won't want him back for sure now. Maybe if he spins it, makes it seem like he knows better they will allow him to win if he does.
"Tony-" he looks up again, unable to hide the hurt in his own eyes, but he keeps a stoic expression otherwise. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to use you, but I thought I-" how many more half truths can he get away with? "I thought I was doing what was right."
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"Do you know what the hell I've-" He stops with his mouth open looking pissed. "Gone through?! What I've had to put up with? To hell with that Rogers. You want this, you. No." He waves his hand dismissively. Wanting to tell Steve exactly what he's had to go through, from the soldering iron burns from working with crap equipment to running on no sleep or food trying to find him, while worrying himself sick while out trying to make sure the capitol sees him.
Admittedly the fact that Tony's latent childhood crush had come back out while fake dating Steve, and along with those around him make sure he's eating and sleeping it's all he can do to feel sane is to hold onto something fake.
"You want to do right. You do this face to face."
Looking all the world like a petulant child as he crosses his arms at the screen with a huff of his own.
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Honestly, it only makes matters worse. He's trying to do right by the other man and he isn't letting him. It's irritating, but Steve does his best to swallow it back, too nervous voice it like he normally would have.
Instead he just looks at Tony being a child and continues being as exasperated as he's been most of this conversation. "This might be as face to face as we get," Steve hopes not, but his chances are still iffy right now. "If you want to take the risk of waiting, that's up to you, I've said my piece."
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"Waiting is all I've been doing. But when you get back. This Stark isn't going to go searching for you. You want to be an idiot. Work for it."
He offers up a petty reply, but at the same time it's his own way of trying to get some control on the situation. He gives Steve an unimpressed look, but at the same time showing that he's going to show Steve that he can out stubborn him.
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He takes a calming breath before continuing. "You know what, probably better that you don't."
Better that Tony doesn't look for him when Steve knows chances are he won't show to begin with. Besides, if Tony wants to act like a petty child, then he can, Steve doesn't have the energy or leeway to do anything about it anyway.
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Then Steve says it's better if Tony doesn't look for him. Tony isn't in Steve's head, so short of 'trying to keep Tony safe' ... Again... Tony has no idea it's because Steve is legitimately convinced he won't be coming back. So Tony's mind kicks in automatically to the words from his own past.
Steve doesn't want him around.
It makes sense, he knows his faults everyone leaves him when he doesn't pay them or supply them with their 15 minutes of fame. Or it's easier to pay a nanny to take him than deal with him themselves.
He's just too tired to connect that this wouldn't be the direction the Steve 'I still help old ladies across the street" Rogers would ever actually say or mean.
His eyes widen while he still looks off screen, turning them on Steve which while they return to Steve look mostly hurt and confused. His own mind throwing himself so off balance about it he doesn't even speak.
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"Talk to me, Tony, what's going on in that noggin of yours?" It's honest in it's concern, not asking for any reason than because Tony is making him worry.
Where did Tony go with all this? Why is he so hurt by it? The man took it and ran with it, Steve wants to know how badly off course he's gone.
A
Steve catches Aang on the inside of his arm, leaving a long scratch on his skin, but the boy's gone before he can be grabbed. He rolls and jumps to the windowsill, perched like an animal, tense and ready to roll around the room if Steve comes at him.
"It's just me! It's just Aang."
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But Aang's voice breaks through the panic, though the words are lost on him. His mind is still too clouded, his lungs heaving, his heart racing through it's skipped beats, the pain in his chest unbelievable, but Aang's voice cut in enough to make him realize that pain he's feeling is in his chest, not his limbs, not his joints. And even though his ribs were no exception, it's not the same kind of pain. That realization keeps his mind from being lost in a sea of torment, though it does heighten his confusion about where he is.
For the moment, Steve just curls in on himself, the panic still set in him as his eyes dart around the room looking for threats. They settle on Aang the second the kid moves again, they are wet with fear and pain, making Steve seem more like a cornered animal than a person.
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He doesn't know how to deal with this. He's a little boy with limited experience. In his world, many people died and suffered, but his job was to leave the healing to others and keep moving towards ending the war. Now, there's no other job. Now, there's a man who needs help, and spirits help him, Aang would do his best to give it.
"I'm sorry," Aang begins, making a slow, pacifying gesture with his hand. "I shouldn't have touched you without asking." He quietly eases down from the window, but he doesn't move closer to Steve, instead leaving him his space for now. "Did you have a nightmare? That's okay. I had one too." Aang keeps his voice soft and gentle. He does what he thinks Katara would do. She had been the closest thing to a mother he'd ever had.
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Though, not to say the kindness of Aang's voice doesn't help either. It does. The words help him slowly realize where he is, that he's not there anymore, strapped to a table. Sure, this place isn't safe either and the panic in his chest is still squeezing his heart and lungs painfully, but he's aware of the differences. No one spoke to him, he was a thing to them, everyone but Bucky, he spoke to him, but there was only coldness there, detachment. Aang speaks nothing like that.
Besides, he wasn't there, he wasn't in the other moment, that makes a world of difference.
"'m fine," it's a mumble, barely loud enough to hear, but it sounds unconvincing, like he doesn't believe it himself. Aang is a kid, he shouldn't have to see Steve like this - curled up like a coiled spring. "It's okay, 'm sorry, I-" Steve shakes his head, he's trying to catch up to all Aang said, but his mind is in too many places, "didn't mean to scare you."
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"You didn't scare me." He creeps closer, stopping periodically to keep Steve from feeling hemmed in. "I once had a friend who liked throwing fireballs when he was upset about something. It takes more than that to scare me."
He gives a smile, settling near Steve without getting too close into his personal bubble. "I didn't mean to startle you. I'm sorry. I just was feeling kind of cold and woke up from a bad dream."
When in doubt, play to the adults' desire to keep him safe and cared for. Aang's learned that skill since coming to Panem.
A
He doesn't touch him, not yet. Bucky feels the ghosts of his own nightmares creep up his spine, raising the hairs on the back of his neck as he puts everything he has into keeping his hands still in his lap.
"Stevie."
The things he see's in sleep are horror, pure and simple, torn up flesh and blood. Sometimes it's his, often it's not.
"Wake up." Bucky doesn't know exactly what they did to him, the Capitol, in all those weeks but he can imagine -- he can imagine plenty. He has a large frame of reference to work with when it comes to the kinds of torture one human can inflict on another. It sits heavy in his gut that Steve lived with anything even remotely like what Bucky went through and that there's nothing Bucky can do to make it better.
All he can do is try and stop Steve having to relive that pain over and over in his own head. "Wake up!"
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They don't see someone else though, not really, they just see the wrong Bucky, the one in a lab coat that looms over him. He stops fighting the blankets, seeming to shrink into them now instead, like he's trying to pose less threat, to go unnoticed.
But Bucky is already aware of him and he knows it's pointless to try. Maybe words will do, they helped before.
"I'm not your mission," he speaks so quiet, unsure of Bucky's reaction, the fear that had been so strong earlier in the arena is back full force at this moment, "please Bucky, I'm not, you don't ha-" his voice shakes so bad it finally cuts off like it's unable to continue.
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Bucky won't pretend he won't have more missions in the future but he knows, no matter what, that Steve won't ever be the focus of one again.
"You were having a nightmare, Steve, a nightmare." He pushes emphasis into his voice on that word, hoping to cut through whatever part of his friend is still caught up in his dream. "I'm not going to hurt you."
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Steve clutches at his head, curling further in on himself as Bucky says this is a nightmare, that he won't be hurt.
He shakes his head, like it would clear his mind of what wasn't real and leave behind what was, but it doesn't because it all seems too real. It was all so vivid, like he could feel it in his bones and skin. He doesn't want to look up and see Bucky in that lab coat, but he doesn't trust that he won't.
"I-" he shakes his head, his voice still quiet, cautious, so unsure as he sat there shaking like a leaf in a strong breeze. His voice is muffled and quiet, but he makes his tentative request anyway, "Talk, jus- until I-" know what's real.
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He moves his hands carefully, letting them hover just over Steve's shoulders but not quite daring to touch just yet. Bucky knows what he's like after his own nightmares; sometimes he wants to cling and other times any touch feels like suffocation until he's calmed down.
Talking though, talking he can do.
Bucky licks his lips for a moment, scrounging for some harmless topic to talk about. "You remember when I was fourteen, and you were thirteen, and the circus came into the city? I thought you'd faint from excitement over the posters alone. I got hold of one for you, took it right off the fence; was mad at myself that I didn't manage it without tearing the edge." he swallowed at the memory, "All you drew for weeks was circus stuff, I remember you made that one picture of me as a clown and threatened to show that girl I had a crush on," he couldn't remember what her name was or even what she looked like, just that she had existed. His lips twitched fondly, "I knew you wouldn't but I still called you an asshole. Then my baby sister overheard me and wouldn't stop saying it, I was scared out of my mind she'd tell my ma and we wouldn't be allowed to go."
A
And with what Steve must have gone through while the Capitol had him - even though Sam tries not to think about that too much, not in the arena - they must be worse than ever.
Sam knows better than to touch someone when they're like this - he's learned the hard way one too many times on both sides, getting socked by a veteran in a flashback or pinning someone to a wall when they caught him during one of his - but this isn't the VA, and Steve isn't one of the soldiers in his groups, he's one of his best friends.
So he does it anyway, nothing restricting or restraining, just the barest hint of touches as he cards his fingers gently through Steve's hair.
"Come on, Steve, wake up. You don't wanna be where ever you are and we don't want you there either, so come back to us."
He lets go immediately when Steve starts fighting, though he doesn't really move back or try to defend himself. He can take a few punches. "Steve, it's okay. It's okay, I'm not gonna hurt you."
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Sam's voice filters through, but not the words, Steve's head too muddled and confused, trying to pull into reality but clouded by the wake of a nightmare that shakes him to his core. He recognizes the voice though, hadn't heard it in his dream, but he had seen the man's face there. It causes him to recoil sharply, blinking up at Sam as he tries to focus on his face, but there's a disconnect there. Steve is seeing something other than Sam, even if that something has the same face.
It makes his panic pick up a notch, his breathing comes in wheezes and gasps now as he becomes worryingly close to an asthma attack he's unaware of. Everything is too overwhelming right now for him to be aware of his body.
"Sam-" he shakes his head, his voice a trembling mess that's almost too quiet to hear. "Just stop- please. Don't, we're friends," he sounds hopeless, like he thinks his pleading won't do a thing to stop what's coming.
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For a moment, he’s hopeful when Steve blinks up at him. He’s seen a disconnect like that too many times not to know exactly what it is, though, and he knows Steve’s still not really here.
“Steve,” he says again, and his voice isn’t sharp, but it’s firm. A wake up call instead of an attempt at comfort, and he’s hoping that breaks through whatever the hell it is Steve’s caught up in better. He doesn’t have time to stick with soft right now, not when it looks like Steve’s getting ready to work up himself into an asthma attack.
And he’s maybe a little bit worried if he sticks with soft, he’s gonna get too caught up in the fact that it’s Sam’s name Steve is calling there, that he’s the one Steve is afraid of, is fighting against.
“Come back to me,” he says again, and his voice goes a little softer anyway, without his intention. “Come on, man. I’m out here, not in there, you gotta talk to the real me.”
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But it doesn't come.
The only pain to be found is the ache and burn in his lungs that grows with each of his panicked breaths. His mind is slowly shaking the lingering grip of his nightmare, realizing that pain isn't Sam's doing.
Finally the words filter in, just pieces and fragments he has to fit together again. The sudden gentling of the tone, the way Sam hasn't grabbed him. It's like there's an answer before him, but he can't find it, can't read it, his mind not cleared of the fog and panic enough to take the moment to translate it.
Looking up again, his eyes dart along Sam's features, as if he's trying to find a difference, a change, something to tell him the what and how of the situation before him.
"I-" his voice cracks sharply on his uneven breathing, sounding almost painful, "You're not-?"
This man was supposed to hurt him, if he's not then... What if Sam is going to get in trouble for not doing as they say? No, Steve doesn't want to suffer anymore, but he can't let his friend go down with him. He pushes at Sam's chest, as if to urge him to leave. "Then go, run, they'll hurt you if you don't- go. I can't have you- please, go." he sounds so sure, even through it's mumbled between panicked breaths.